Of Men and Swine
This is going to come as quite a shock to many of you, so brace yourself.
I've never been hunting. I mean real hunting, rifle and all. I've sat in the woods in my younger years with my uncle, but I've never been active in a real hunt. Mostly because I don't care for deer meat; I don't turn my nose up to it, but I won't be knocking down old ladies to be first in line for the venison at the big game luncheon at Bubba Baptist Church. Wild hog, on the other hand... well, that's just good eats.
So a while back, I set out in to the brush of south Georgia, visions of ribs, butt, and loins dancing in my head in a cloud of hickory smoke. The first thing - at least in my mind - that entered my head when planning for the hunt - I'm gonna need guns! Lots of guns!
That thought was evident as I stepped out of the truck of our tour guide and began loading and strapping on iron like a man ready to defend the Alamo with thoughts of making it out alive. Slung on my shoulder, my dad's trusty .44 Mag lever-gun; on my left hip, a .44 Mag 7 1/4 inch single-action revolver, my backup gun; and on my right hip, my trusty Walther 9mm. On my person was more than 50 rounds of big boy .44 Magnum ammo and 30 rounds of 9mm hollowpoints. No doubt in my mind now - I looked like a living incarnation of the apocryphal Mall Ninja.
Into the wild we went, hunting grunters. Little did I know, it would be I who would be doing the majority of the grunting, due to the obscene dearth of briars in the brush. I'm talking about stuff so thick that visibility of ground was not even possible at some areas from a standing level. And then...
Movement. On a line parallel to us, but moving in the opposite direction, maybe 15 feet away. And I couldn't see anything but the top of the brush swaying back and forth, taunting me. I trained my rifle on what looked to me to be the most "open" area and waited for the first sign of brownish colored hair to cross my sights. The tops of the brush swayed right up to where I was pointing... and I never saw a thing. Nada.
So Miss Piggy got a reprieve that day. But I'm hooked - and will most definitely be back.
I've never been hunting. I mean real hunting, rifle and all. I've sat in the woods in my younger years with my uncle, but I've never been active in a real hunt. Mostly because I don't care for deer meat; I don't turn my nose up to it, but I won't be knocking down old ladies to be first in line for the venison at the big game luncheon at Bubba Baptist Church. Wild hog, on the other hand... well, that's just good eats.
So a while back, I set out in to the brush of south Georgia, visions of ribs, butt, and loins dancing in my head in a cloud of hickory smoke. The first thing - at least in my mind - that entered my head when planning for the hunt - I'm gonna need guns! Lots of guns!
That thought was evident as I stepped out of the truck of our tour guide and began loading and strapping on iron like a man ready to defend the Alamo with thoughts of making it out alive. Slung on my shoulder, my dad's trusty .44 Mag lever-gun; on my left hip, a .44 Mag 7 1/4 inch single-action revolver, my backup gun; and on my right hip, my trusty Walther 9mm. On my person was more than 50 rounds of big boy .44 Magnum ammo and 30 rounds of 9mm hollowpoints. No doubt in my mind now - I looked like a living incarnation of the apocryphal Mall Ninja.
Into the wild we went, hunting grunters. Little did I know, it would be I who would be doing the majority of the grunting, due to the obscene dearth of briars in the brush. I'm talking about stuff so thick that visibility of ground was not even possible at some areas from a standing level. And then...
Movement. On a line parallel to us, but moving in the opposite direction, maybe 15 feet away. And I couldn't see anything but the top of the brush swaying back and forth, taunting me. I trained my rifle on what looked to me to be the most "open" area and waited for the first sign of brownish colored hair to cross my sights. The tops of the brush swayed right up to where I was pointing... and I never saw a thing. Nada.
So Miss Piggy got a reprieve that day. But I'm hooked - and will most definitely be back.
posted by misawa at 4:52 PM
1 Comments:
So, how many guns does it take to..., nah, i'm not even going to ask :)
j razz
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